


Next Time, He'll Just Use Snap Shots

by angelblack3



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cameras, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelblack3/pseuds/angelblack3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's camera shy, and Sherlock always knows what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Time, He'll Just Use Snap Shots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deuxexmycroft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deuxexmycroft/gifts).



> It's still technically your birthday as I haven't slept yet. So it counts. 
> 
> Happy Birthday Deuxexmycroft/Archia! May you continue to be amazing and talented!

John sat naked on the bed with his hands folded in between his legs. His eyes passed over the comforter, the carpet, and an interesting stain on the wall he’d never noticed before. They looked everywhere except where Sherlock was setting up the camera. 

The equally bare detective had been fiddling with positions, angles, and lighting for the past ten minutes. Every second that ticked by was another opportunity slipping by for John to come up with a decent argument against this idea. So far, nothing was going to match Sherlock’s determination and insistence.

It wasn’t like this was a big request on Sherlock’s part either. It wasn’t like Sherlock was asking for more space in the fridge for body parts, or unlimited access to John’s gun. He was just asking for a video, that was all.

John rubbed the back of his neck to get the prickle out from underneath his skin. 

And suddenly Sherlock was there, sitting beside him and placing one of his pale hands upon John’s thigh. 

“John,” Sherlock said in the tone he used to calm hysterical witnesses, “there’s really no cause to be nervous. Especially with me,” his hand rubbed up and down John’s leg, easing away some of the tension that had hardened John’s muscles to cords of steel.

John let out a long sigh, but he still couldn’t get rid of the discomforting sensation of being…well, watched. 

Sherlock leaned in and began to gently tease John’s ear. A cheap shot, but an effective one, as John closed his eyes and tilted his head to give Sherlock better access. 

Sherlock’s gentle tugging turned to nips, and his lips moved behind John’s ear, down to his neck, before finally mouthing the top of John’s shoulder. It was a pressure that John could barely feel, but it still sent tingles across him.

Sherlock began to gently guide John down onto the bed, pushing in rare gentle insistence. 

Once John’s head hit the pillow, he sharply inhaled, and looked at the unblinking eye at the side of the bed.

His head was turned by Sherlock’s hand, and John was staring into a pair of sharp silver eyes instead of one steady black one. 

“Don’t look at it John,” Sherlock murmured, close enough that their foreheads touched, “just look at me.” 

John suddenly felt irritated at himself for regaining all of the tension he’d tried to lose. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s back, grounding himself before he nodded.

Sherlock smiled, pride beaming in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed John, gently exploring his mouth. After a brief period, John began to press back. They laid there, Sherlock hovering over him, just softly pressing themselves against one another.

The chill John had been feeling slowly receded, until they shared their heat as easily as they were sharing their space. 

The softness of their lips molded together, and John parted his mouth for deeper access. Sherlock obliged, softly playing at John’s tongue with his own. John moaned lightly at the feeling, and spread his legs in an instinctive response. 

Sherlock laid himself down, and John jolted at the feeling of hot and hard flesh next to his own. Sherlock chuckled, resulting in a pleasant vibration in his chest that echoed off of John’s.

John moaned deeper, tangling one hand in Sherlock’s curls while the man above him began to gently rock against his hip.

The languid press of them against one another was very…nice. Neither of them had ever really asked for a more indulgent exploration before. It was always a pressing need and a frantic scrambling of clothes, followed by the same blissful glow that all couples shared. 

The reasoning behind this new development became as clear and sudden as a light switch, and John huffed a laugh. He pushed himself as far back into the pillows as he could, and looked Sherlock in the eye while he smiled,   
“I’m not nervous anymore.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. John felt the camera’s sight was as tangible as a touch, but he could ignore it if Sherlock was the one distracting him. 

Sherlock smiled, and kissed a spot behind John’s ear while he murmured, “Do you not enjoy a gentle touch John?”

“Mm, not that,” John disagreed, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s pale back, “just that you hardly need to be gentle with me. Or feel like you need to, ah,” Sherlock had bitten down on the skin of his neck, “put me at ease.”

Sherlock licked over the area he’d just bitten. He did it again to hear the breathy noise John released each time. 

Sherlock trailed a series of tiny nips over John’s shoulder, down to his clavicle, where he openly mouthed over the slender bone. 

“Would you rather I was rougher with you John?” he asked the man’s skin, “Would you prefer it if I was more demanding?” Sherlock’s hands came up to rest on either side of John’s chest, slowly moving John’s nipples in tiny circles with his thumbs. He enjoyed the way John’s eyelashes fluttered with the sensation, and how he arched for more. 

Sherlock thought about the camera still steadily watching them. How it would catch all of the things Sherlock missed in these moments. The exact flush of John’s skin, a sudden twitch in his leg or the desperate curl of his toes. All of it caught on video for him to browse as he pleased. 

Sherlock moaned from the thought. He moved down John’s chest to the nipples he’d been rubbing, licking one into his mouth. He felt as though he should thank John in some way. As if stimulation was the only way for Sherlock to fully express his gratitude in seeing John captured moment by moment. 

John’s hands suddenly tangled in Sherlock’s hair when Sherlock delicately nibbled at the pert nub in his mouth. Sherlock smirked, continuing his teasing until finally moving onto the next one. 

John shifted restlessly underneath Sherlock. His hips tried to grind upward to find some sort of stimulation, but Sherlock’s hands were suddenly there, pinning him down onto the bed. The denial of friction made John whine helplessly. He tugged on Sherlock’s hair, trying to encourage him to move. The pulls were gentle, far from a harsh tug that would cause any hint of pain. 

The thought that even when John was losing himself to sensuality, he still wouldn’t take or demand from Sherlock, made the detective growl deep in his throat. 

He moved himself down without further prompting, licking and nipping his way down to John’s pelvis. The soldier’s cock was only half hard, but it stiffened further when Sherlock blew a soft breath of air across the hot flesh. Inwardly Sherlock lamented that he hadn’t thought for a handheld camera instead of one stuck to a stand. To have video evidence of John swelling to arousal would have been a lovely sight. But he knew John wouldn’t be able to distract himself from something so obvious. Perhaps John would allow it next time.

If not, Sherlock was _very_ persuasive.

Sherlock slowly licked up and down John’s shaft. It swelled underneath Sherlock’s tongue, twitching when Sherlock gripped the base to lick the underside. As he continued to tease, John’s moans grew from pleasured to desperate. 

Sherlock moaned openly when he thought about the lines in John’s brow becoming pronounced when he scrunched his face in disapproval. Would those same lines be deeper, or smoothed by the feeling of pleasure? Finally he would know for certain. 

Before John could curse at him, Sherlock popped John’s length into his mouth. He continued to stroke the flesh that he couldn’t reach with his lips, and sucked at what he could. Sherlock’s tongue continued to lap over the slit, licking up every drop of precome as it appeared. 

Even with his eyes open, Sherlock could only see John’s navel. He had no way of knowing if John was twisting the sheets or clenching his fists on open air. Was he gritting his teeth or was his mouth open in a soundless exhale? 

Sherlock told himself to be patient as he started to bob his head. He made sure to not even brush his gag reflex. If he even hinted at being uncomfortable, John had an annoying tendency to immediately pick up on it. And this was about relieving his stress, not exacerbating it. 

When Sherlock felt his lips begin to tingle in numbness, he pulled off enough to clear his throat and ask, “The lubricant please, it’s on the nightstand.” His voice sounded a little hoarse, but thankfully John hadn’t noticed. Sherlock cast his eyes upward, to see if John had even heard him, and his breath stuttered. 

John looked utterly wrecked. He looked debauched, dazed, and almost delirious. His blue eyes were glazed over, seemingly unable to look away from their ceiling. His blond hair was ruffled, either from tossing against the pillow or from gripping it with his fingers, Sherlock couldn’t tell. But he would know. A rosy flush had spread from John’s cheeks to dust across his chest. Shallow breaths expanded his bitten and bruised skin like living artwork. 

John was beyond gorgeous like this. And now Sherlock had it on film. 

John turned away, his mind only just now processing the request for lube and reaching for the bottle. He completely missed the flitting and deranged smile that Sherlock had let slip. 

But the smile quickly vanished when Sherlock realized something. John had been staring at the ceiling, had he been staring at the ceiling the whole time? 

John was facing the camera now, but only for the approximate five seconds it took for his reach to finally grasp the bottle.

The lens would capture John’s side, but that was all it would be able to see. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to have a full view of John’s face.

This was a grievous oversight. Sherlock cursed himself for having been so caught up in their activities to have missed it. 

No matter. It would be rectified. 

As soon as John’s fingers closed over the lube, he was being yanked and maneuvered into a different position. Confused but curious, he didn’t put up a single protest. Until he realized he was kneeling on top of the bed, entirely facing the camera.

John’s back straightened, and he murmured uncertainly, “Sherlock?”

The detective, meanwhile, had already smeared some of the gel onto his fingers. Sherlock reached around John’s chest and pulled him close so John’s head could rest against Sherlock’s shoulder. 

This gave his back a tiny arch, making his stomach and groin all the more visible. Smirking against John’s hair, Sherlock rubbed his wet fingers against John’s hole. 

When John gasped, Sherlock had to hide his own face briefly from the camera. It wouldn’t do, if John ever saw this, for him to see just how much he enjoyed making John desperate for him. 

Sherlock’s fingers circled and rubbed, building up the sensitivity, until he finally pushed in. The muscle flexed around his finger, and Sherlock couldn’t help his small gasp from feeling the tight heat clench around the digit. 

The angle wasn’t something he was used to, so it took Sherlock a frustratingly long time for him to find John’s prostate. By the time he did, he had already relaxed the muscle across three fingers. 

John was practically shaking by then. His nerves were alight with anticipation and want, and when Sherlock finally brushed his fingertips across his prostate, a delightful keening noise was drawn out of his throat. 

Smiling, Sherlock repeated the action. Again, and again. When he was certain John was too far gone to do anything but listen, Sherlock opened his mouth to say, “I hope you’ll want to watch it with me, when we’re done.” 

John’s breath stuttered, but there was no other indication that he had even heard what Sherlock was saying. Sherlock continued thrusting his fingers and murmuring into John’s ear, “I want you to see how lovely you are, when there’s nothing on your mind but me and being filled with my cock.” 

John moaned, and one of his hands gripped the arm that still kept him trapped against Sherlock’s chest. He clutched at it as if it were an anchor. That seeking for something stable to ground himself spurred Sherlock on, “Were you truly unaware John, of how much seeing you like this affects me?” 

He rubbed his stiff erection against John’s arse to demonstrate, “To know that this face, this flushed and greedy face of yours, is only something that I can see? That I’m the only one who knows just how much of a little slut you are?” 

“Fuck,” John gasped. And either the words or the effort of kneeling was too much to handle anymore, because John collapsed forward, supporting himself on his hands at the last second. The sight of John on all fours was the last thing Sherlock could take.

He gently pulled his fingers out, adoring and cataloging every tiny whine of protest John made. Sherlock slathered his cock in more lubricant, stroking himself a few times in the process to take the edge off. 

With one arm on the bed to keep him upright, he used the other to guide himself into John’s warm and slick hole. He took it slowly, hoping that every facet of John’s face would be captured in high detail. 

Sherlock head snapped up at the reminder. John’s head was bowed forward, his neck being the only thing the lens would document. 

Snarling, Sherlock gripped John’s hair and pulled until John’s face was in perfect view. At the same moment, he slipped all the way inside until he was flush against John’s arse. 

Two groans of deep satisfaction mingled together. Sherlock let go of John’s hair after remembering that he was still holding onto it. 

“Don’t drop your head,” Sherlock said in warning, “even if you don’t want to see what you look like while you’re being mercilessly fucked, I certainly do.”

John didn’t drop his head. His arms trembled, and John’s whine was almost pitiful, but he didn’t look away. 

Sherlock hid his smile by quickly dropping it against John’s shoulder. He shifted a bit, delighted by the little noises John made, until he was kneeling again, still seated inside of John. While a part of him wished to tease John with tiny thrusts until the man cursed him with every vulgar word under the sun, the tight coil of heat in Sherlock’s belly told him that he wouldn’t last much longer. 

So he pulled himself almost completely out, and then thrust his cock back in. John choked on a groan, but he finally completed the sound when Sherlock repeated the action. 

With his fingers digging bruises into John’s hips, Sherlock continued to piston in and out of him. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the room. Sherlock wondered if the tiny speaker would be able to catch all of the noises. It certainly wouldn’t do justice in gathering the minute details of John’s attempt to shout in pleasure while being completely without air, but it would try. 

When Sherlock felt his orgasm approach, he laid himself flat across John’s back. One hand laced itself with John’s fingers, the other tipped John’s chin up so they were both staring directly at the camera lens. 

“Could you come like this John?” Sherlock panted, “Could you come with just me thrusting inside of you,” he jerked his hips harshly with every other word, “Could you come with nothing but my cock, with the camera capturing every twitch of your face?” 

John’s throat vibrated against Sherlock’s wrist from his groan. Sherlock felt John try to move out of his grip, but he only gripped tighter. 

“Look, John,” Sherlock urged, “open your eyes and stare into it. I want to be able to watch you come undone, over and over again for me. I want to watch what how your face twists, what angles your body writhes and how many times you thrust against empty air when you-“ 

Sherlock cut himself off with a garbled groan. Just as he had been about to utter the damning word, John trembled underneath him, coming with a surprised shout. 

The muscles fluttering and squeezing around his dick was too much for him to endure, and Sherlock came almost immediately afterwards. 

It wasn’t until the orgasmic haze had drifted away that Sherlock realized he’d bitten into John’s shoulder when he came. He traced the bite mark with his fingertips. One of many that he’d left behind, but this one was especially deep. 

“’S, alright,” John’s voice slurred beside him, “it hurts, but it won’t become infected or scarred or anything. I really need to remember that you’re a biter.” 

Sherlock chuckled, moving away to stop the recording, though it cost him valuable sensations of comfort and warmth. 

After pressing the red button, Sherlock waited for an appropriate time before muttering, “Oh no.” 

“Hm? What is it?” John asked, his voice hoarse from drowsiness and sex. 

“It didn’t record.” 

“What?!” John was wide awake now, twisting on the bed until he was staring wide eyed at Sherlock. “What happened?!” 

“The battery was low. I didn’t realize,” he lied for a second time.

“ _You_ didn’t realize the battery was low?” John asked incredulously. 

“I was a little bit distracted,” Sherlock retorted, “we’ll have to do it over again.”

“What, right now?” John looked alarmed. 

“No, of course not,” Sherlock dismissed, waving a hand through the air, “your refractory period isn’t even close to being finished. Once you’ve recovered, we can try out a few new angles that would possibly work better in the limited lighting.” 

John groaned, this time in exasperation, and covered his face with his hands. It was the perfect opportunity for Sherlock to pop out the memory card and slip it between his fingers. He’d hide it soon, in his dressing gown when John wasn’t paying attention. 

He would have to sacrifice their second coupling to his mind palace instead of to the camera. The third time, when John figured out that the memory card was missing, would more than make up for it, so it was a small sacrifice.


End file.
